Arrived on Monday, April 18, 1994. The day of the Boston Marathon.
I thought I’d get to hang out with the crowds watching. Went to Biba to say hello first. It was fucking busy.
Straight into my whites. A good introduction all around.
Most of what I knew at that point was French. Lydia was travelling everywhere and eating, and her flavours and palate left me speechless. The restaurant was on fire. So was she.
Along with Susan Regis, they made a great kitchen team. No cooks were in the kitchen when Johnson & Wales called—that was amusing. A novel response to the realities of student loans.
New things to cook and eat every day.
Making Mexican chorizo, rolling trofie pasta for tripe, sobrebarriga en salsa criolla, a Columbian braised brisket dish that defied what I knew as delicious up to that point, brains in beer batter, salads with purslane and chicory.
Thirty-two years later, I still cook things I learned there. So do friends in Stratford.
Never went back to staging with men. Female leaders were where it was at.
Boston in the spring is pretty—flowering trees, green parks, and the Charles River.
Spent one day in the Schlesinger Library. Want to return for more.
Arancini in the North End.
The experience was everything I hoped for.
The natural choice for music was Aerosmith. But the association with this song is stronger—the Stone Temple Pilots remake of the greatest Led Zeppelin song of all time.
Fight me. :)